


A Week (and Then Some)

by tiigle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, I have a thing for parentheses, Post-Hogwarts, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiigle/pseuds/tiigle
Summary: Hermione Granger enters a bar on a Wednesday evening, dead set to drink herself happy. She is joined by a dark, mysterious wizard, who she is not going to go home with. Is the barkeep related to Albus Dumbledore? (His eyes sure twinkle the same way.) Is she going to become a crazy cat lady? (Not that there was anything wrong with cat ladies.) Is Ron’s fiancée already up the duff? (She’s pretty sure she is.) A week and then some from Hermione’s point of view, complete with insane abuse of parentheses.





	1. Wednesday Comes Before Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I am not J. K. Rowling nor have I asked for her permission to use the characters or anything else you recognise as hers. I make no money out of this, and my job pays so little that there’s really no point in suing me. That being said, ALL HAIL QUEEN J.K.!
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: I haven’t written fanfiction in over a decade. I have never written anything in Potter-verse. English is not my first language (not even my second, to be honest), so the fact that the text is understandable is all thanks to my lovely beta, thegreylioness. That being said, I was bitten by a plot bunny, and here I am, trying to get this story out of my head, so I can get back to being a respectful grown-up. (Snort!)

She placed her order and sat down by the counter, deliberately ignoring the questioning look the barkeep gave her. Yes, she was aware that it was only Wednesday and that her order would have better fit a Friday. She had arrived straight from the Ministry, simply transforming her robes to a smart suit that gathered a lot less attention in Muggle London. Not that her robes weren’t smart, though. They were nice robes, business-like enough for her to blend in among the flocks of fellow Ministry rats -- no wait, make that employees, Ministry employees -- but cut skillfully enough to show that she, bluntly put, had something to show. The Muggle suit didn’t quite billow the same way either. It didn’t billow at all, which was a definite con.

She snapped out of her reverie as the barkeep set a tray with seven shots on it in front of her. She flashed him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as a sort of a signal of gratitude, suddenly too weary to actually verbalise, yet alone vocalise her thoughts. Unfortunately, the man interpreted that as as an opening for conversation. 

“So, rough day at the office?” he asked, leaning against the counter. His eyes were twinkling, reminding her of Dumbledore. Merlin’s balls, now that she looked at him, he sort of looked a bit like a young Dumbledore. He was about the same age as she was, she estimated, and very likely _VERY_ non-magical, considering that pretty much every witch and wizard in Britain (and possibly in Europe, as Ginny had oh-so-kindly pointed out at some point) knew her well enough not to risk being hexed to Hades and beyond for asking such an idiotic question, small talk or not. Unless jolly old Dumbledore had sired a squib son during the First War, the young man was not likely to be related to the old lemon sherbert brain. 

“Oh no, let me guess. It’s your boyfriend?” he ventured, while she was still trying to decipher, if his mum might have dipped into the Dumbledore gene pool. Not bloody likely, though, since the Dumbledores were socially intelligent enough to recognise a person who wanted to be left alone to drink themselves silly in the middle of the week. She took a hold of the first shot and downed it. She’d still mentally refer to him as Wee Albus from now on.

Apparently, her expression, unintentional as it had been, had answered his question despite her silence. That’s what you get for being a Gryffindor, she mused silently, as the man carried on his monologue, telling her that her boyfriend must be insane and quite possibly gay if he had treated her poorly. She downed the second shot with a grimace and pushed an auburn curl that had escaped her smart bun out of her face.

Someone was talking about Ron, defending him, referring to him as a veteran who had been through some horrid battles. Shite, was that her voice? It sure sounded like it. She snapped her mouth shut and the voice was gone. Yup, her voice, alright. “He’s a great guy, seriously. It just wouldn’t work between us. It doesn’t work, I mean,” she added as an afterthought of a kind, downing the third shot. 

The few years after the War had been a true eye-opener in her relationship with the youngest of Weasley brothers. She loved him and he loved her, sure, and everyone around them expected them to stick together. She could still hear Molly Weasley’s voice in her ears, hell, she could still feel her hand on her shoulder, telling her that Ron would be lost if it weren’t for her to keep him on the surface. He had dealt with his wartime traumas in the same way you’d expect of a Muggle man, she guessed. He had tried to outrun his thoughts by working out until being buff enough to barely fit through the door frames in the Burrow, he had hidden behind his new job as an Auror, and when those methods failed, he tried to drown his sorrows in firewhisky.

Not that she blamed him. She herself had returned to finish her education at Hogwarts, which may have been a mistake, returning to the stage of the final battle so soon, merely a few months later. Hogwarts rules did not allow students to drink alcohol, whether they be of age or not, and she was not one to break the rules. (If you did not count that one time she had sneaked to the Divination class, her only goal being obtaining one of Trelawney’s multitude of sherry bottles. She had succeeded. She could barely think of sherry after that evening -- and the following morning -- without feeling ill.) She had hidden behind piles and piles of books, despite the best efforts of Ginny, Luna, and others. (She preferred being alone, probably because of feeling somewhat guilty of having escaped the horrors her fellow students had faced the year before, even if her year hadn’t really been a walk in the park either.) She even started escaping her thoughts by jogging around the premises, soon gaining a surprising but blissfully silent companion of Draco Malfoy, who had been lucky to dodge being thrown into Azkaban mainly because of not having been of age. (He probably wanted to get even further from his thoughts, she had thought at the time. They had never really talked during those hours upon hours upon hours they spent outdoors, and sometimes indoors, if the Scottish weather was particularly nasty, running up and down the many stairs of Hogwarts, much to the amusement of the portraits hanging there. He had thanked her, however, in his own Malfoy-ant way, during their last day of school. She knew it was an apology, as well, but refused to recognise it as such. She was no saint either.)

_Earth to Granger, you were going to make a point to yourself about Ron, weren’t you?_

She downed the fourth shot absently, feeling the liquor burn its way down her throat, giving her the courage to reach the same conclusion she had reached a couple weeks earlier. Despite their best efforts, it was never going to work out between Ron and herself. It was a disappointment to the Wizarding Britain, sure. They had been a dream pair, only second to the Potters who were expecting their first child to be born any day now. It’s just that they were too different. Too much like a brother and a sister. They had too different goals and plans for life. They had just grown apart. Well, not really. There had never been quite that kind of feelings. Not enough at least. They were still friends, just no longer with benefits, as Ron had told her with an endearing little wink. She had not disagreed. She loved him dearly, but they had admittedly grown apart.

It still hurt like a Cruciatus curse when his engagement to Lavender Brown was published earlier that day. She was almost as certain about the future Mrs Weasley being up the duff already as she was about their relationship having started months before Ron worked up the courage to end the whatever half-hearted attempt of a relationship they were having. She was happy for Ron, she really was. He and Lavender made a lovely couple and did indeed suit each other in every possible way. She knew Ron wanted to have about half the Quidditch team of children (Harry and Ginny being responsible for producing the other half), and if the rumours were indeed true, they were off to a good start. She grimaced -- not entirely of joy, admittedly.

Fifth shot down, two to go. Wee Albus the Barkeep had returned to whatever he was doing, after having reached the conclusion that she was in no mood for small talk. She let her eyes wander towards his direction, absently noting that he had a rather nice butt in those tight black jeans. See, Granger, she told herself, this is why you end up alone with ol’ Crooks. You ought to flirt with those twinkly-eyed youngsters, not frighten them away with your thousand mile stare.

She could blame the drinking on work, too. She didn’t even really have to rattle her pleasantly foggy brain for excuses, eh, make that reasons. The highly classified project combining the very best experts of multiple branches of wizarding science, including but not limited in potions, arithmancy, and herbology, had been taxing, to say the least. It was the kind of a project she had dreamt of when she had studied herself silly, finishing her M.o.P. (Master of Potions, obviously) a week prior to taking her Healer’s Vow (which wasn’t quite Unbreakable but not much lighter either). She had enjoyed working with Neville, Master Longbottom that is, immensely, but for the past couple of weeks she had spent her hours alone in the researching chambers. Apparently, she was to be joined by a colleague, but whether they were a healer or a potioneer, she did not know.

She downed the sixth shot, followed by a quiet curse, as the taste hit her fully. She heard someone softly chuckle by her side at that. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Definitely male, pleasantly dark, sure. If the rest of the man was as pleasant, she might even consider trying to drag him home with her, since, well, she had apparently decided to comfort herself by giving one night stands a try. Wee Albus might also be an option, since she had caught his twinkly eyes gazing at her direction on more than one occasion. She would regret it in the morning, that was for granted, and Crooks would not approve of it, but she wasn’t going to ask for her half-kneazle’s opinion on the matter.

Where was she? Oh yes, there was a definitely male, pleasantly dark voice, somewhere on her side. She opened, wandlessly, the top button of her blouse, and turned her face slightly to meet a crooked smile, and a pair of obsidian eyes. Surprised, she closed the top button of her blouse, the Muggle way this time, not quite sure how she should answer to the chuckle and the smile of her former Potion’s Master.

“I thought I’d recognised you, Miss Granger.” Severus Snape’s voice was different, huskier and darker it had been before his close encounter with Nagini, soon followed by an even closer encounter with Death. Somehow, the man had survived the both and promptly disappeared from the face of earth after leaving St Mungo’s, all charges against him having been dropped before he even woke from the venom-induced coma.

“It’s Master Granger, actually,” she replied coolly and congratulated herself for having not slurred the sibilants by downing her last shot, deliberately ignoring his raised eyebrow and the twitch of the corner of his mouth that could only be interpreted as amused.

He simply nodded at her before catching Wee Albus’ attention. “I’ll have a Guinness, please, and one of whatever the lady wants. As an apology,” he added at her questioning expression. “I assure you I am not trying to get you drunk, Master Granger, I just wish to join in on whatever it is that you are... celebrating.”

If his eyebrows lifted any higher, they’d slip on to the back of his head, she thought grimly, before unbuttoning the button again (wandlessly, nonverbally, as you do) while leaning against the counter and asking Wee Albus for a pint of IPA with (what she hoped was) her most seducing smile. Even though she had definitely had a thing for Professor Snape’s voice back in Hogwarts, whenever he wasn’t scathing her, of course, there was no way she would leave the bar with him tonight. 

That is probably why she was so surprised to wake up in the wee small hours in her own apartment, her legs still tangled with those of his, both of them stark naked. The smell in the air left very little doubt about what had happened at some point in between flirting with Wee Albus and waking up in the arms of seemingly very content, softly snoring Severus Snape. The worst part was that she was feeling quite sated herself.


	2. The Morning After Wednesday

She was quite worried about how awkward the following morning was going to be and quite frankly wished he would leave by the time she woke up to leave for work. She would make quite an impression on her new colleague by this rate, as it was, showing up hungover like a hippogriff with bloodshot eyes, smelling like old booze, and quite likely a couple of hours late to that. She would rather not imagine the state she would be in if she had to deal with Severus bleeping Snape on top of that.

She was wrong on both accounts, sort of. She woke up when he jumped out of the bed, cursing softly under his breath while reaching for his wand and immediately casting a Tempus. He let out a relieved sigh at whatever the time was, and she cracked an eye open just in time to see him gaze at her. He ran his hand over his face, groaning softly, and she was instantly hit by a vivid recollection of just what those long fingers were capable of exactly. She blushed like a virgin at that, before groaning herself, as a giant apparently started using her head as its trampoline. 

He wordlessly walked to the pile of his clothes, and soon returned with a small vial which he handed to her. “Take it,” he told her softly and surprisingly gently. (Was he really being gentle or was it whatever Nagini had done to his throat? Did it really matter?) “It won’t make me disappear, but it’ll help with a headache. Do you drink coffee?”

She nodded silently and downed the peppermint-flavoured potion in a single go. Its effect was immediate. The giant took its trampoline elsewhere and she no longer felt quite like the infamous hippogriff. His expression was perfectly schooled, as he watched her. She flashed him a tiny smile, as a way of thanking him, not quite trusting her voice. What would she say to the former teacher of hers -- with whom she had coincidentally just spent the night, doing the deed, so to say? Especially since she did not wish to appear a babbling fool, and even just her _thoughts_ were giving just that appearance even to herself. Wait, what, damn, wasn’t he a Legilimens? Was he able to hear what was going on in her head? Oh man!

He gave her a tiny smirk, which did not make her feel at ease at all. “Great. I’ll help myself, then, and perform a disappearing act so you can go on with your morning business. I believe you work in the Ministry, so you still have almost two hours before you need to leave, in case you work the usual hours.”

She nodded gratefully, and followed him with her eyes, as sneakily as she could (and she liked to imagine she was indeed quite skilled at casting sneaky looks), as he summoned his clothes with a wandless Accio. The tall, dark unfortunately-not-a-stranger disappeared into her loo, reemerging surprisingly fast, fully dressed. He was wearing, well, what he always had worn, she guessed, save for the lack of the billowing teaching robes. Black trousers that had that expensively tailored look to them that Slytherin men seemed to prefer. (She wondered if Snape and Malfoy used the same tailor, because she could swear she had seen Draco in a practically identical attire at the Ministry the other day. She had acted like she hadn’t seen him at all, of course. Those sneaky looks, you know. The ones she had mastered.)

There were so many buttons on that man, though. She caught herself wondering if she had managed her way through all of them last night, or if he had a spell for that. Vanishing the thought, she got up as soon as he had disappeared into the small kitchen and made a dash for the shower. The running water didn’t quite drown the small clanks from the kitchen. Soon the divine smell of fresh coffee reached her, and it wasn’t long until she heard the front door close (supposedly) behind him.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her, and softly padded to the kitchen, ignoring the disapproving look Crookshanks shot at her from his usual spot on the windowsill. The hypocrite of a cat beast! She had seen the looks he gave the pretty Persian living across the street, and she told her familiar just that. She wasn’t graced with any kind of an answer, which was no surprise, considering she was talking to an animal. In any case, the coffee was as good as you’d suspect the Greatest Potioneer of His Age (and Quite Possible the Century, Too) would brew. “A man of many talents, eh?” she quipped at the half-kneazle, who replied with a huff and turned his back at her.

She had been drunk last night, there was no denying it, but wasn’t as if she didn’t remember the previous night, she mused over the quickly emptying coffee mug. Oh no, she remembered, alright. He had made the first move, praising her practical uses of magic -- obviously referring to her blouse and its pearly buttons. For a reason she was unable to name (but seriously speaking, it was Ron, or her fear of being alone forever, and the two were practically one and the same, but she’d never admit that), she didn’t ignore his innuendo, like the sober-ish part of her brain told her to do, but threw gas on the fire that was likely to cause the heat she spied in his black eyes by lifting her eyebrow and, with that, undoing another of the buttons along with one of his.

Although she and Ron had enjoyed the physical aspects of their relationship, she had not been prepared to how the verbal sparring would affect her. Even in the middle of her morning after regret and shame, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that, regret and be ashamed of what had happened. Granted, it could have been someone other than her old Potions Master. Actually, it should have been anyone else than the Great Bat of the Dungeon. She could still remember the disappointed look Wee Albus had given her as the evening had progressed and the flirting had gained more physical aspects. Poor Wee Albus. It wouldn’t have worked with them, not with those Dumbledore eyes, she told herself. Not that it would work with Snape either, she would likely never see him again. 

She knew he resided somewhere in Britain, figuratively stirring the cauldron that was academic potioneering every now and then with his superior knowledge on, well, anything and everything. He had written a book on Legilimency a couple of years ago. Nothing personal, of course, but a study that had captivated even her attention, despite not really being into Legilimency. (Rita Skeeter, the old hag, had had a field day with that, wildly speculating whose thoughts “the dreaded Death Eater slash Professor” had read during the War.) He was rarely seen in public and he never participated in the galas and feasts thrown in the memory of the Second War (or the First War, for that matter). He appeared to have retired from wizardry, except for those discussions he occasionally participated on the Potions field. It had been Muggle London where she encountered him the previous evening, and she was fairly certain he lived mostly in the Muggle world, nowadays. He was half-blood, after all, and probably had a Muggle house somewhere. With his Order of Merlin, First Class (awarded when he was still in coma and presumed not to make it) and the substantial amount of money that came with it, he would not need to worry about income any time soon. 

Snape had not once mentioned Ron last night, but she was pretty sure he followed what was going on in the wizarding world and thus couldn’t have escaped the news. She knew that the whole thing that happened in between them might have been a pity fuck, a great one at that, but a pity fuck nevertheless, or even him taking advantage of her vulnerable state, had it been literally _anyone_ else than Severus T. Snape, the very man who had made her teenage years really quite horrible. (She understood, of course, the pressure he was under, and the need to keep up the charade under all those years he had served two very different masters. It didn’t mean she had quite forgiven him personally, although no one would have guessed that, had they seen her last night.) He would not need to sleep with the bushy-haired, buck-teethed know-it-all to make her feel bad -- or worse -- oh no. Besides, she did feel a bit better.

Sighing, she sipped the last of her coffee, got dressed in her smart robes (which, after a couple of spells taught to her by Mrs. Weasley -- Molly, not the future Mrs. Ron Weasley! -- were good as new, despite the fact that the white blouse she wore under it seemed to have lost all its buttons for some reason), spelled her mane into an equally smart updo (which was no small feat, Ron had always told her that he wasn’t sure if it was simply a charm or more like transfiguration).

Oh, Ron. She sighed forcibly pushing away the melancholy trying to throw off her groove.

Ginny’s owl landed behind her window. She let the bird in, and took the short letter it carried on his leg. Ginny was worried about her, understandably, and asking how she was dealing with the news. The baby Potter had yet to make their entrance, and it would seem they were in no hurry whatsoever, unlike their mum who was feeling like a flubberworm -- and looking like one, too, according to herself. Hermione smiled softly and wrote a quick reply to her friend, telling her that she was happy for Ron and Lavender despite having wallowed in self-pity most the evening. The owl set off with the reply, and Hermione set off to face another day at the office.

She had been quite stuck with her research lately. The potion they were working on, the highly classified one, would help a multitude of people with different kinds of spell-induced neurological injuries. Among those patients were, naturally, the Longbottoms but also her own parents, whose memories she had been unable to restore, despite the help of some of the most powerful witches and wizards she could think of. The fact that she was personally involved with some of the patients or victims, as they often were referred to in this context, made the already stressful project even more so. 

She reached the research chamber that had been given to her use. Her new partner had yet to show up, and of that she was grateful. She definitely needed a moment to compose herself after what had happened in the last twenty hours or so. Ron’s engagement, the rumours about Lavender’s pregnancy, and ending up having passionate sex with Professor Snape -- yeah, it had been a taxing day to say the least. Of course, he wasn’t her or anyone else’s professor any longer, but old habits die hard, she mused. 

She had teased him about it, of course, at some point last evening. He had sternly made a point of not having been attracted to teenage witches since he himself reached puberty. “However, I have no objections when it comes to my former students,” he had continued, reaching to play with a stray of her hair before tucking it behind her ear. “Especially those who have become Potions Masters themselves and are currently less than three feet away from me.”  
“Does that mean I no longer have to fear that you’ll give me detention, _Sir_?”  
“Keep calling me ‘sir’ and I’m sure to come up with more creative ways of punishing you, Granger. I cannot guarantee that you would not like them, however.”

She shook her head gently, forcing herself to emerge from the memories of the night before. It was time to work, and it was not like she had anything more important going on in her life, now that the only man who might have been brave enough to actually marry the Brains of the Golden Trio had gone and hitched someone else -- someone with no brains whatsoever, it would seem.

Oh, right, she had decided to be happy for them and not bitter. Oops.

She groaned softly and ran her hand across her face, the gesture reminding her of Snape in her bedroom this morning. Had he meant to stay for the night or had it been an accident? Did he regret having slept with her? Why didn’t he have the mind to stay away from her thoughts now that she was supposed to work?

_Get yourself in control, Granger!_

She went to her desk, and started working on the ancient tomes on the effects of long-forgotten medicinal herbs. They had managed to determine a number of side effects that were usual for memory-restoring ingredients. Since the known memory-restoring ingredients did not help their patients, she would have to find a new one -- possibly one that had a known main effect but yet undiscovered memory-reducing side effect. She reached for the notebook that kept her notes on the subject, set it on the desk quite close to her, and started going through the text in front of her.

It was not only the tomes that were dusty, but the text itself was dry enough to make her throat feel positively parched. She frowned, forcing herself to concentrate for a full hour before allowing herself a small break from her ancient Egyptian sources. Despite the translation charm being quite ancient (and thus quite perfected), the text often appeared more nonsensical than not. She cast a protective spell on the ancient tomes before charming a glass of water for herself. If only she had a cup of coffee, preferably one as good as the one she had the same morning.

Nope, she wouldn’t let her thoughts stray that way. She had not really pulled a one night stand before, having been in a relationship with Ron all her adult life, so it was not quite as easy to shake it off her mind as it ought to have been, she figured out.

She stretched her hands, feeling and hearing a pleasant popping sound somewhere in her neck, and dove back into “the mind’s kneeling” and how it has to deal with the patient’s heart being hot, as well as which herbs and plants would help to cool it down. If she managed an hour of this, she’d allow herself to sneak out to buy a proper, non-charmed cup of coffee in that marvellous Muggle place across the street from the Ministry entrance. Oh yes, and something with chocolate to go on the side. She only managed to go read a few lines of the tome when she heard the door creak and soft footsteps enter the chamber.

That would be the new colleague who would share the chamber, she figured out before turning around with a pleasant smile, hoping not to frighten her new partner, whoever it was, away. She _had_ quite a reputation, after all.

Her heart skipped a beat when she met the eyes of the man standing in a doorway. The dark outfit Severus Snape had worn when she had left her apartment the same morning was mostly hidden under his black robes, not much different from the ones he had worn at Hogwarts all those years ago, as he stood in the doorway, unreadable expression on his face. She rose to her feet just as her superior, Professor Archibald Plunkett, entered the room, not noticing Snape’s distress, if that’s what you wanted to call it. He was still standing there, frozen to his spot, his thoughts and inner turmoil (if there was any, but Hermione sort of hoped there would be) perfectly hidden from any observers. 

“Good morning, Hermione! I’m not going to keep you from your sources for too long, don’t worry. I presume you knew that you’d get a roommate one of these days, haha! Well, here he is. I take it you two know each other, you’re about the same age as my niece, so Severus here must have taught you in Hogwarts at some point. I take it you two war heroes don’t intimidate each other too much, we mere mortals easily…”

He went on babbling, as he always did, not really giving anyone a chance to put a word in. Hermione suggested that was how he had risen to the position he was now in, the head of the Ministry’s research committee, by simply talking until everyone else had given up or lost their consciousness. She let her eyes drift from her boss to the tall dark man, who was now o  
penly rolling his eyes at the elderly wizard who still had his back to him. By the time Archibald finally, _finally_ ended his tirade, Snape had composed his face into a sneer she had grown well familiar with during her time at Hogwarts. Archibald wished them a happy day, then excused himself, and left them alone.

“Well if this wasn’t a surprise, Master Snape,” she muttered as soon as the door closed behind Plunkett, not wanting to give a chance to the awkward silence to sit in.   
“Indeed, Master Granger,” he drawled before walking determinedly to the desk she had not buried under books, tomes, notes, and whatnot. She had no illusion whatsoever about engaging the man in smalltalk. He did not appear to consider the situation very awkward, but she did not share that particular set of mind. 

In the end, they worked silently, each by their own desk, for a couple of hours. She was so concentrated in writing down her notes, that his hand on her shoulder took her by surprise. She turned her head to face him, and was not surprised to see his face blank, features decidedly set not to reveal any of his thoughts.   
“Lunch?” he asked, removing his hand from her shoulder. She missed his touch immediately, idly blaming her loneliness for being so touch starvated. (He did touch her quite a bit last night, though, now that she thought of it. She’d better not think too much about it right now, with him standing right next to her, however.)  
“A bit too early for me, but thank you for the invite” she answered, pleased that some part of her rational mind was still working like it should instead of lingering on his, well _lingering_ touch, apparently at the expense of her vocabulary. 

He merely nodded at that, and walked to his desk to retrieve his robe. “I am likely to spend the afternoon brewing in my personal laboratory.”  
Was that a note of disappointment she heard in his voice, or did she just imagine it? ( _Likely the latter, Granger. Get a grip, woman._ )  
“I will see you tomorrow morning, then,” Hermione answered, a bit too cheerily for her own liking, turning back to the materials gathered on her desk. She heard him stop by the door for a heartbeat, and oddly enough sigh softly, before he left.

It was only then she dared to lean back in her chair and let out the long groan she had been holding in since she first saw him at the door. She would definitely need a drink -- a singular drink, not half the bar -- tonight, having survived both the dusty, dry, useless tomes AND the whole ordeal with Snape. He had not brought up last night, for which she was mostly pleased. Was the old git so used to sleeping around that it was no big deal for him? Why did it make her feel so uneasy then? (After all, she knew he had no complaints about her performance the previous night. Or had he?) Would it be as awkward to work with him from now on? How long would she share the working place with him? Why on earth would he _touch_ her like that? (Severus Snape did not seem like a person who would ignore other people’s personal space, oh no, ma’am!) Was there ever going to be an end to these questions? 

Most importantly, where was that coffee she had promised herself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely reviews, kudos, and follows! They mean a lot to me. The tome which Hermione is researching in this chapter is the Ebers Papyrus, an ancient Egyptian papyrus of herbal knowledge. You can find it online should you be interested in it, but I don't think you'd be able to find anything very useful, unless it's inspiration you're looking for. :D


	3. Friday Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are a-brewing.

Hermione woke up with a start, receiving a disapproving yowl from Crookshanks, who had graced her with his presence in the bed. Her alarm clock told her she still had half an hour before she needed to get up, but she figured out it would just make things worse. The night had been -- well, wild didn’t feel like the right work, especially after having her mind blown the night before that, but her dreams had been all over the place. From watching Severus Snape bleed out (as she had thought at the time) on the floor of the Shrieking Shack into what had happened in her bed last night, with Ron and Lavender sloppily snogging in the background.

Snape had not returned to their shared office the afternoon before, and she hated herself for being disappointed because of that. She also hated herself for hating herself because of the blasted man doing what he said he would, but that was sort of besides the point. She should have gone for someone else for her first one night stand, someone she did not know. Someone like Wee Albus, twinkling eyes or not. (She would have to ask Headmistress McGonagall about if there had been a Squib child in the Dumbledore family.)

Last night, she had worked overtime, preparing for the brewing she would do today (or waiting for him in case he had left something in the office), and then gone far enough to take a detour on her way home, to see if he would be in the bar they had ran into each other in. Unsurprisingly enough, he was not, and Wee Albus wasn’t there either. Not that she was in the mood to drink, let alone drag another man to her place for the night, even though that might have given her a break from her thoughts, if only for a small time.

“Oh, sod off, Crooks! It’s my bed!” she hissed at the ginger feline, who was shooting her a murderous look. Apparently, she was disturbing His Majesty by her very presence. By this rate, she would make a lousy crazy cat lady, as her cat wasn’t too fond of her. In order to make that better, she got up, and left the furry beast alone on the bed. Maybe she could become a crazy coffee lady instead.

She decided to take the trip to the Ministry the Muggle way. Apparating and the Floo were nice, something she understood better than some witches and wizards due to her Muggleborn status, but walking and taking the tube gave her a chance to think. She would have to reach some sort of a conclusion about her thoughts on Snape, so his very existence wouldn’t bother her quite as much, since she would share her working space with him for the time being. She was supposed to do some experimental brewing today, after all, and she’d rather not be distracted, using ingredients as rare and expensive as she was planning.

What was it that made it so hard to just let it be, just let _him_ be? They had spent a night together, yes, and it had been nice. (Fine, more than nice, but that’s besides the point.) She did not harbour any ideas of anything romantic between herself and Snape, did she? (No, ma’am! But she wouldn’t object to something carnal between herself and Snape. Wait, where did that come from?) Maybe that was the problem. Despite not having been head over heels in love with Ron, but their relationship wasn’t one of physical attraction, either. They had grown in love instead of falling in love, then grown apart. (One could argue they had never really been in love. They had been pushed together by a number of forces, and neither had had the will nor the courage to push the other away.) She was simply not used to this kind of physical attraction, actually lusting after someone, and that was definitely what she was feeling for Snape.

_So, Healer Granger, what is the diagnosis? How are we going to treat this condition?_

Why was she so attracted to the man? He was by no means handsome, nor her type. (Whatever that might be.) He was intelligent, sure, and that was sexy, yeah, but his intelligence could certainly not make up for his character, let alone all those years he had belittled her, hurt her, ignored her. Therefore, she must have been attracted to some alcohol-induced idea of him, fuelled by the fact that he simply was there, _present_ , and willing. He took the first step of the little tango, and the amount of people it takes to tango is an established fact. (What was that supposed to mean? Would he dance with her if she asked him to?)

If she was not, in fact, attracted to him but merely to the idea of someone wanting her, being there (or simply existing) and possessing a brain intriguing enough, the course of treatment should be clear enough. She would need to find someone else to distract her, to sweep her off her feet. Simply put, she would need to find a man who was not Severus Snape, and get properly laid. Again. Her career might depend on it.

Of course, she wouldn’t do that, not really, but she could play with the idea in case she got too distracted by the man that was Severus Snape, she figured out as she entered the room they shared. The man that was Severus Snape she was referring to was currently leaning over his desk, reaching for something. She didn’t really care what it was he was reaching for, as long as she could appreciate those finely tailored, wonderfully tight black trousers of his, that showed off his rather nice arse. 

Oh, fucking fizzy whisbees! This is not how she was supposed to do it. Nor was she supposed to notice, let alone gaze at ( _gaze at!_ ) the sight that was Severus Snape wearing a white ( _white!_ ) linen shirt. Had she ever seen him wear anything but black?

Clearing her throat (and her thoughts with that), she wished him a good morning, in the same chipper tone she had used the previous day. It was her office persona, the chipper Gryffindor Princess, the Brains of the Golden Trio, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, et cetera, et cetera. It was who people expected her to be, and, in a way, who she would have them believe she was. The reality was different, of course. The War had left her scarred, both mentally and physically. She still kept Dreamless Sleep in her bedside table drawers, in case she received another visit from Bellatrix Lestrange in her dreams.. Hell, she still bore the scars she had left on her skin well over a decade ago! It was barely twenty-four hours since the man across the room -- who had returned her greeting with a monosyllabic grunt, not even looking at her direction -- had kissed his way down the scar on her chest, courtesy of Dolohov. She would have never guessed how soft those thin lips would feel on her skin.

She shook her head softly, forcing her mind out of the gutter it was heading into. She needed to work, to get her mind involved in a brew complicated enough to make her forget about the man across the room. 

Chopping, slicing, dicing. Powdering, brewing, stirring, bottling. Clockwise, counter-clockwise, seven, eight, nine times. This is what she loved about potions, the perfect counterpart for her Healer persona, not having to give a single ounce of her energy to another person. The ingredients were just that, nothing more than the ingredients they were, the equipment was the equipment. There was no need to feel, no need to decipher anyone’s thoughts, no need to read in between the lines. Things were simple, things were clear, and there was no one else but her in the whole world, silently stirring her cauldron. Dragon scales and juniper seeds, dandelion root and manticore hair. Simple as that.

“Granger.” 

And there he was. She had deliberately ignored the burn of his onyx eyes -- oh yes, she had felt his eyes on her, apparently constantly straying from whatever book it was he was reading. She had not given a single thought to whether or not he was having any of the thoughts she had had going through her head, or if he, too, could see himself throwing her across his desk, and taking her right then and there, so deeply lost in each other that they’d barely have the mind to lock the door.

Wow, and she had been doing such a great job at ignoring him.

“Hmm?” 

She would not give him a proper answer, nor would she look him in the eye. He would think she was so immersed in the brewing. She, on the other hand, knew that he could read her treacherous thoughts, Legilimens or not, so clearly they were written on her face.

“It’s well past three in the afternoon, and you haven’t taken a single break, let alone eaten lunch. As much as I admire your morale, I have no desire whatsoever to expand my expertise towards mediwizardry.”

“Huh?”

Great. Eloquent as ever.

“If -- or rather, _when_ you pass out, there’s no one else around to Rennervate you, and it’s been years since I’ve last cast that spell.”

“Oh.”

Nice job, Granger! Show him the immense depths of your vocabulary! Luckily, he was not glaring at her, as she expected, but there was a -- was that really a grin on his face? Surely, she must have imagined it, as it was already gone. Right? 

“Have I rendered you speechless, woman, or is it just the low blood sugar?”  
“Excuse me?” Wow, that came out really gracefully. Not like a screech at all. First a monosyllabic cave woman, now a pterodactyl. 

He wiped the grin off his face and raised his hands theatrically in surrender, chuckling even as he did so. The dark noise went straight into the pit of her stomach -- and beyond, straight to her center. Did he know his voice had that effect on women? She was certain he did. What was that look in his eyes? Did she read too much into the situation or would she dare…?

“Oh, so you _have_ been ogling at me, Master Snape! I thought I felt your eyes on me the whole day.”  
“Ogling at you? Witch, I’ve been patiently waiting for you to get up and get some lunch, so I could join you and buy you a drink -- no back thoughts, it’s just that you are quite endearing when you are tipsy -- before I sweep you off your feet with my charms, and snake my way into your bed for the whole weekend.”

How was one supposed to answer to that, she wondered, all the while casting a stasis charm on her brew -- it could wait for Monday. It would wait for Monday. 

Had she not spent most her morning figuring out a way to get past what had happened a couple of nights ago? Had she not reached to conclusion that it was nothing (well, nothing other than her personal weakness, her fear of being forever alone) and that it would be the best to forget all about it, as they would be sharing their working space for the unforeseeable future. There was no way she would be able to concentrate on her work, on the project that meant more than anything she had ever done before, if the man she was sleeping with was only a few yards away, waking all sort of lascivious thoughts in her poor, already overcrowded mind and…

Wait, what, were those her hands, grasping the front of his shirt (which was, indeed, linen, nicely woven fabric at it, too) and pushing him against the wall. His dark chuckle (for he appeared to be amused by her little display of -- well, whatever it was, lack of self-control perhaps, but most certainly not strength) was soon silenced by her lips, as she greedily attacked his mouth. 

She was attracted to him, drawn to him even, there was no way around it. To Hades with romances and _happily ever afters_ , even Voldemort himself would not be able to keep her from snogging the man in front of her, not because it felt right but simply because it felt good. Had she not spent the majority of her life doing what other people expected of her, the Gryffindor Princess, the Brains of the Golden Trio, the Brightest Witch of Her Age? Yes, that was the role she had been given, and boy, had she done a great job acting it, sometimes almost convincing herself, too!

He was cupping her breast in his hand, making it rather difficult to concentrate on overanalysing the situation. She moaned softly. 

What would all those people think if they saw her now? Against the wall in her office -- wait, how did that happen? At what point were their positions reversed? Sweet Circe how skilled those fingers were! Where was she? Oh yes, against the wall in her office, the hand of a man -- and not just any man, but Severus blipping Snape! -- cupping her breast under her brewing robes. Huh? Did she really feel his cool hand on her far from cool breast? Had he just vanished her bra? It would definitely seem so, and she didn’t give a rat’s arse about what had happened to the piece of clothing. It had been all too sensible, all too conventional, all too Hermione Granger anyways. Besides, those long, lovely fingers of his were working all kinds of ancient magic on her nipple.

They would shun upon her, wouldn’t they? If they knew she was not perfect, if they found out she was but a mere mortal herself, they would leave her all alone? She knew she was exaggerating and being quite childish, too, but she couldn’t help but feeling that way. The Good Girl Syndrome was not something you’d joke about if you were considered the very manifestation of it. The role had been handed to her on a silver plate, she had accepted it, embraced it, and it had taken years to be able to once again see her true self through it. Granted, her ambition had never been hidden by it. She had done things she was not proud of, things that were ethically questionable in more ways than one, but she had done those things for the common good. Always for the common good, never for the good of herself. She had damn nearly married a man she loved as a brother, just because it was considered the right thing to do. She never considered it the right thing to do, she knew everyone else did, and that was all that mattered. It was all about appearances, being Hermione Granger, _the_ Hermione Granger. The appearance of Wit, the appearance of Good, the appearance of…

“Granger, you’re thinking so hard I can hear the little wheels turn in your head,” the dark man told her, scowling. She wouldn’t describe the scowl as playful, but the fact that she could feel his erection throbbing against her thigh, did take the most nastiness out of it.  
“They are no little wheels,” she pointed out, rolling her hips against his groin.

He moaned at the contact, apparently distracted for the time being, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around him, as he started making their way towards his desk. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had somehow looked into her mind earlier, when she had imagined him doing just that. There was no way of knowing what was going on in the wizard’s head. She couldn’t comprehend, why he was attracted to her in the first place. She knew she wasn’t ugly, per se, but she wasn’t gorgeous either. Then again, gorgeous was not the word one would use to describe him, either. She reached higher and kissed her way down the bridge of his nose, still the most hooked example of its species she had ever encountered, to his lips, still thin and almost constantly sneering. She kissed his sallow face, wherever she could reach. 

No, he wasn’t gorgeous or handsome, and there were but few positive words you could use to describe his looks. His character was not much better either, although he seemed to have softened after the War had ended, gained slightly more patience -- or it might have been just her imagination, having hardened and lost a lot of her benevolent patience during those post-War years herself, struggling with completing her education, struggling with gaining the respect of the Ministry for her work, not just her friendship with one H. J. Potter, struggling with the loveless relationship she was in. 

“Is there no way to get that formidable brain of yours to quiet down for a bit, so I could have all of you here on my desk? Not that I have any complaints about your delectable body, but I’m sure we’d both enjoy this more if you were actually present, not lost so deep in your thoughts even the centaurs couldn’t find you.” 

Oh. Right. Well.

“I guess there’s only one way to find that out.” The elegantly arching eyebrow was sort of sexy, now that she saw it at close range. “You need to make my thoughts go quiet.”

“Quiet? Little witch, I am going to make you scream.”

She did scream his name when she came. Not his first name, of course, that would have been too much. However, he did call her Hermione, when he offered her the crook of his arm for a side-along Apparition to her apartment.


	4. Saturday Night Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Potters, the Weasleys and a nasty bug(ger).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for not updating sooner. The real life (you know, work, kids, all that jazz) got in between me and my laptop. In any case, I have the outline for the rest of this fic figured out. It's going to be nine chapters long, and it just may be the first installment in a series. (Not sure about that yet, though.)
> 
> Anyways, on with the show!

It was odd, the amount of casualty and coziness they had spent the morning in. Neither of them had spoken more than a few dozen words, and it was well past noon already. It didn’t feel awkward at all. It was one of those comfortable silences she had heard of. (If by hearing you mean reading, of course. She was Hermione Granger, after all.) 

That is why she was surprised when she heard herself ask him the question, as they were lounging on her couch, each reading a book at the opposite ends. 

“Why?”  
“Why what?” he asked without turning his face away from the book he was reading, his finger never ceasing to draw random runes on her naked shin.  
“Why me? Why now?”  
“Why not? You are gorgeous. You are intelligent. You are eligible. You materialised in that blasted bar a couple of nights ago right in front of me, and I knew I had to at least try to have you.”  
“I thought you hated me, had always hated me, ever since Hogwarts.”

He gave her a long look over the top of his book. She was unable to read his eyes well enough to quite know what he was trying to tell with them.

“I was your professor, Granger,” he answered simply, trusting her to understand the rest of it, and understand she did. Despite everything, he would have never risked his position in Hogwarts by allowing his thoughts on his students to stray to inappropriate paths.  
“You were brilliant even then,” he added softly from behind his book, which had caught his attention yet again. 

She lowered her eyes back to her own book. Her mind did a small spin, trying to get itself agitated by the shortness of his answer and the implications of that, but she silenced it, concentrating on her book once again, idly noticing that he had drawn the rune for ‘bliss’ and moved on to something else. Besides, he had complimented her.

Later that evening, they were lying in her bed, trying to catch their breaths. She was on top of him, still straddling him, her head resting on his pale chest. His heart was beating under her ear in a steady if fast rhythm that was hypnotic in its way. He held her against him hard, before letting his arms fall to his sides, exhaling loudly through his nose. She lifted her head, and gave him a small kiss on top of the said nose. He was staring at the roof, his mind obviously miles and miles away. Would she dare to ask him what he was thinking? What kind of a Gryffindor would she be if she daren’t? So, ask she did. The answer surprised her, sort of.

“I know I promised to spend the weekend in your bed, but I think I may have to renege that.”

She heard herself answer that she would not hold it against him, that he had not really thought he would actually spend the whole weekend in her bed (not that she would have minded it if he did, though), that she did not want him to feel like he was bound to her.

His eyebrow shot up high at that. He lifted his hand to her cheek, forcing her to look into his eye. His eyes were sharp, and she couldn’t help but feel like he was staring into her soul -- something she knew he was fully well capable of doing.  
“Granger, why would I, why should I feel like I was bound to you?”  
“If you use Legilimency on me while you’re physically still inside me, I’m going to hex your balls blue, no matter how awkward it would be at the office after that.”

He barked a surprised laugh at her vehemence, and she knew she should be grateful that he did not push her for the answer to his question. Why would he feel bound to her? They had known each other for most her life, but they had been amiable towards each other only for the past few days -- which was, coincidentally, the time they had been sleeping together, too. Was she so broken by her break-up with Ron and all that had followed, that she was somehow projecting her feelings, her need to be loved, on the man who was infamous for hiding his feelings and laugh in the face of love? 

He interrupted her thoughts by a demanding kiss, apparently cataloguing all her fillings. (There were four of them, all gained during the year she had spent hunting horcruxes. She had travelled to Australia, afterwards, to have the fillings made by her parents. Not that they had recognised her, of course. She was no Gilderoy Lockhart when it came to memory charms, but her Obliviate-game was far from weak.)

“I trust you know me well enough to know that I am not one for… romances,” he all but murmured, as they finally broke for air.  
“Of course. I trust you are up to date enough with the gossip to know that I may be a bit… unlike myself due to… things.”  
“If by ‘things’ you refer to the ginger baboon who, for some reason, allowed you to escape from him, yes.”  
“It was a mutual decision, and had it not been, it would not have been for him to keep me from escaping, as you phrased it, had I not wished to stay. Ron remains to be a dear friend of mine, despite the awkwardness of our current relationship. Please, do not refer to him that way.”

He kissed her, softly this time, before rolling them over.  
“My apologies.”  
“Apology accepted.”  
“It does not change the fact that I am now forced to leave the confines of your bed.”  
“I will see you on Monday, in that case. I have a brew, which I was unable to finish on Friday, due to being distracted by a tall, dark stranger.”  
“I trust you have become quite well acquainted to me by now, Granger, though I do not know if that means I distract you less in the future. You are, however, correct, as usual.” 

He pecked a quick kiss on her forehead, got up, and soon enough, after some impressive spellwork, he was dressed. The drowsy glint in his obsidian eyes was the only sign of the fact that he had spent the most of twenty-four hours doing indecent things that were likely illegal in many parts of the wizarding world.  
“I require a kiss goodbye, Master Snape,” she told him, stretching languidly.  
“Is that so?” 

He kissed her nevertheless, before he left the apartment without a further word. Soon, she heard the telltale crack of Apparition, and knew he was gone. She wondered idly, why he had not stayed overnight, as it was already well past 6 PM. Why did she even care? They had had more sex in the last twenty-four hours than she had had the whole year prior to that, and this time quantity and quality went hand in hand. She did not fancy him, not like that. They were a good match in a way, but a relationship with him was unthinkable, no matter how nice the morning with him had been. She was not ready. He would remain her dirty little secret (and she his), while she sorted her priorities, finished her research, got her parents back, and --

The sound of her Floo activating interrupted her, before she even knew where she was heading with her thoughts.  
“Hermione, are you at home?” Harry’s voice sounded a bit off.  
“What do you mean, is she at home, Harry? Oh bloody…” It was Ginny’s voice, followed by a strange, groan-like voice.  
“Hold on guys, I’ll be with you in a jiffy!” Hermione shouted. She Accio-ed her bathrobe and cast an Aguamenti on her hair, as an afterthought. An interrupted bath seemed like the best reason for her current state of undress. (She would later blush at the thought of not having simply used a spell to get dressed. Some witch she was!)

Harry seemed to be fidgeting, even as a disembodied, green head, when she entered her living room and faced the fireplace, drying her hair with a towel.  
“I was taking a bath. Is there something wrong?”  
“Ginny’s in… The baby is… Would you, please, come to St. Mungo’s with us?”  
“Sure, Harry, just give me a few minutes to get dry and dressed. I wouldn’t want to give Skeeter more reasons to make me look like a madwoman. You can Floo there ahead of me. Tell Ginny I’ll be right there, with you guys.”

Ginny had asked her to be the tending Healer when it was time for her to give birth, but she had declined, claiming she was unable to do the right decisions if the situation got dire, if the patient was too close to her. She had, however, promised to be there, as much or little Ginny wanted her to be. Truth be told, she did it mostly for Harry, knowing he had been freaking out about his skills to be a father ever since Ginny got pregnant. 

She Apparated straight to the delivery ward at St. Mungo’s, being well familiar with the place after having spent a part of her practical training there. Harry was waiting by the door of one of the rooms, and waved her in. Ginny was leaning against the windowsill, humming in a tone so low Hermione could already tell it wouldn’t take too long before Baby Potter would join them. She noticed Harry was giving her some rather odd looks, but that was probably just him trying to see how she reacted in the proximity of a Weasley. Ron was sure to show up soon after the baby was born, and she had not had a chance to discuss the whole engagement business with Harry quite yet. She flashed him a reassuring smile, before walking over to Ginny, starting to ask her questions in order to define the stage of labour she was in.

By the time Molly Weasley arrived about half an hour later, Hermione had left the delivery room in order not to intimidate Healer Pettigrew (a peer of hers who never forgot to make a point of NOT being related to the Death Eater) and to give the parents to be some privacy. They had met a handful of times since her break-up with Ron, and the encounters had been somewhat awkward by nature. She knew the Weasley matriarch was disappointed with them and their decision, although Molly had hidden it surprisingly well. Molly Weasley was, after all, a woman full of surprises, as was proven once again, when she all but ran to give Hermione a warm hug.  
“My dear girl! I was hoping to see you here.”

She had no idea, what the reason for that might be. Her relationship with Molly had never been overly warm, although they both loved each other in a way. They were just too different, she guessed. Molly’s family was everything for her, and while Hermione shared the sentient when it came to those she loved the most, she harboured no dreams of having a family of her own. Of course, she got a bit broody every once in a while, and little Baby Potter, who would make their grand entrance before sunrise by this rate, would most certainly cause another bout of baby rabies, she would likely never mother a child of her own.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Molly,” she offered with a rare, genuine smile when the older woman finally let go of her. She had gotten more physical contact than she really was comfortable with during the day, being a rather solitary person, after all. “I hope everyone in the Burrow is well.”  
“Yes, yes, my dear. I just… How are you dealing with everything?”  
“If by everything you refer to Ron and Lavender, let me assure you that I am very happy for them. They make a lovely couple, and Merlin knows they both earn the right to be happy.”  
“Ah, well, yes, that’s very nice, of course, but I was referring to… Ehm.”

Was Molly Weasley, the very woman who had taught her the contraceptive spells and those that she needed in order to deal with her menstruation, blushing? She definitely was, in addition to not quite meeting her eyes. What was going on in here? (Ginny’s howl of pain from the other side of the wall answered a part of that question, but she did not really mean that.)

“Hermione, dear, have you read today’s Prophet?”  
“No, I’ve been… otherwise occupied.”  
“Well, yes. I thought as much.”

Seeing that the older woman was not likely to get to the point fast enough, Hermione reached for her wand and cast an Accio. The first page did not, luckily, show any sign of what might make Molly Weasley blush, but a couple of pages into the newspaper, she had a pretty good idea what the reason was.

The picture was a surprisingly sharp one, considering how dim the Ministry lobby had been last night. It showed her and Snape, leaving their office in their crumpled, hastily reclad robes. Even the hickey she had half-accidentally given him was visible, and her lips looked positively swollen from all the snogging. His lips moved (he had called her by her first name) as she offered her his arm, which she grasped with both her hands, smiling like the cat who ate the canary, before leaning in to give him a kiss before they Apparated away. After a fraction of a second, the image repeated itself over and over again. 

“ _The Unlikely Lovebirds Seen Leaving the Ministry Together_

_After the announcement of the engagement of Ronald Bilius Weasley (O.M. 2nd Class) and Miss Lavender Brown, it appears Hermione Weasley (O.M. 2nd Class) and Severus Snape (O.M. 1st Class), who was thought to have left the Wizarding Society but was spotted and photographed at the Ministry just yesterday, have chosen to crawl out from under the rock they had been hiding under. The Healer who is known to enjoy tinkering with potions and the renown Potions Master are likely a good match, both of them known for their intelligence, and unpleasant character. One can but wonder if the infamous Death Eater seduced the young, promising witch when he was her Potions Professor in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_We contacted Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, who was Granger’s Head of House all those years ago, as neither Granger nor Snape could be reached, being no doubt busy doing the horizontal mambo. The Headmistress (pictured below) told the reporter to drown herself in the Black Lake, which can only be considered a telltale sign of guilt. (One can also question if the old witch is finally starting to be senile enough to be considered a threat against our young witches and wizards, given to her care for most of the year. That remains for the school board to decide.) The portrait of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was notably absent during this exchange, likely administering some foul deeds even from beyond grave._

_Mister R. Weasley, the best friend of Harry Potter and a renowned War Hero, was lucky enough to dodge a figurative curse when he broke up with the witch. He also refused to comment on the news, although an observant reporter was able to see a touch of doubt and, perhaps, of broken heart on his handsome face._ ”

The story went on, offering a brief glimpse of her and Snape’s actions during the War, speculating wildly about their loyalties, suggesting that they had continued their affair through all those years, behind Ron’s back, of course, and so on. At the bottom of the article, the portrait of Rita Skeeter winked at the reader.

Hermione could feel the magic bristle in her hair (which was already in quite the state after her impromptu shower), as she allowed herself to momentarily drown in the pure hatred she felt towards the so called journalist. She should have crushed her all those years ago, when she had a chance, or left her in the jar to rot. 

She was brought back by Molly’s warm hand on her shoulder. The older woman led her to the side of the waiting room, to have a seat, all the while murmuring under her breath, that naturally no one in their right mind believed a word of it. The man in the photo did look a bit like Snape, she heard Molly tell her, but the photo could be altered, they have a new charm for that, and no one would ever believe that she would have cheated on Ron back in the day, everyone knew she was too honourable, simply too good to ever do such thing.

Sweet Circe, Snape would most certainly be livid when he saw the article. For a person as private as he was, for a thing as new as whatever it was that was between them… Oh yes, livid would not even begin to cover it. She hoped Skeeter had her wards properly set up -- or not, in which case she herself might pay the bug(ger) a visit. 

Ginny’s raw, animalistic roar -- that’s the only way it could be described, Gryffindor-pun or not -- from the other room made Hermione pause her plans of revenge. Skeeter would have to wait, there were other things at hand, more important than paying back to a scumbag of a reporter.

When James Sirius Potter was finally born, after three more hours of labour, and a sea of red-haired relatives had flooded the small room, Hermione could no longer stifle her yawns. The activities she and Snape had engaged in, now apparently the cause of speculation of the whole British wizard-kind, had happened at the expense of sleep. She whispered the new parents her goodbyes, pecked a small kiss on the forehead of little James, and wished the rest of the Weasley clan good night, before excusing herself out of the room. She was too tired to Apparate, so she started heading towards the Floo. She did not quite make it to the fireplace across the room, when she heard someone run after her.  
“Wait, ‘Mione!”

It was Ron, of course. Circe’s little pig, she really didn’t want to deal with this right now. She barely had the energy to stay upright, the exhaustion having hit her full force. Stifling a groan, she turned around to face her ex.  
“Ron, hi. Congratulations on your engagement!”  
“Eh, hi, thanks. I was meaning to tell you before it hit the Prophet but…”  
“Yeah, it’s okay. You make a lovely couple. I’m happy for you guys.”  
“Thanks, ‘Mione. It means a lot to me, but I, erm…”  
“You didn’t want to talk about that, right? You wanted to talk about today’s Prophet -- or yesterday’s it should be called, I guess.”  
“Well, yeah. Don’t worry, I’m not going to question you about if you slept with Snape before we ended our relationship. I know you well enough not to think that of you.”  
“That’s kind of you, Ron. I knew I could count on you on that.”  
“Yeah, I guess. Bloody hell, ‘Mione, I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business, but is it true?”  
“Is what true? That I’m sleeping with Snape?”  
The grimace on Ron’s handsome face was all the answer she needed. 

Suddenly, she didn’t have the energy to hold up the facade of _the_ Hermione Granger. She was suddenly just very tired, very human, very vulnerable, very _just_ Hermione.  
“Trust me, Ron, I was initially as surprised as everyone else apparently is, but I couldn’t be more _satisfied_ with the situation. We are not in a relationship nor are we ever likely to be, it’s just a way to blow off the steam. The sex is amazing, and even though he’s still not a treat to the eye nor a very pleasant person, despite being more intelligent than probably every other wizard combined, I sort of enjoy spending time with him and our chemistries work very well in the bedroom. In case that answers your question, I wish you good-night, because I’m quite tired. I’m sure you can imagine by now, what I did last night and with whom. Tell Lavender my best.”

With that, she stepped into her own living room through the Floo, leaving Ronald Weasley alone in the waiting room, his face pale and his jaw slack, desperately trying to keep images of his former girlfriend and potions professor away from his head.


	5. Sunday, Funday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a cat -- or a half-Kneazle -- could waggle its eyebrows, that would be how she would describe Crooks’ reaction.

**Chapter 5 -- Sunday, Funday**

 

Hermione managed to stay asleep until noon. She half-expected Snape to Apparate straight into the apartment, enraged by the Prophet’s story, but he either had not read the paper or didn’t deem it worth a reaction. So, instead of waking up to her -- yes, her what? Lover? Shag? Former professor? Very own dungeon bat? Whatever it was he was to her, she did not wake up to his arrival, but to Crookshank’s paw gently poking her cheek. Apparently, the familiar was worried about her. She seldom slept in even during the weekends.

 

“Don’t worry, boy, I was just tired after the other night.”

 

If a cat -- or a half-Kneazle -- could waggle its eyebrows, that would be how she would describe Crooks’ reaction. She couldn’t help but giggle at him, gently scratching him under his jaw. 

 

“You haven’t made me coffee, have you, Crooks? Oh well, guess I’ll handle it myself, then. But first, a bath, if you don’t mind, my boy?” 

 

She rid herself of her pyjamas, and had just climbed into the bath, when she heard the Floo activate. The baritone rumble made her shiver, as she heard her name being called, and not entirely out of fear, even though she could hear a tense note in voice. Of course he would arrive now.

 

“I’m in the bath! Do come through, if it is something important, or I can Floo you back later, if…” 

 

She heard him come through before she had even finished her sentence. Merlin, so he  _ was  _ pissed off. Sighing, she let herself sink a bit further into the bath. One day of peace, that’s all she ever wanted. Unless, of course, her  _ whatever  _ would join her in the bath. That she could deal with. A serious conversation? Before having had any coffee? Sure, as soon as Dementors started shooting rainbows and glitter out of their black arses.

 

“Do you mind if I make some coffee?”

 

Blessed man, reading her thoughts! That divine coffee he made would make up for the new one he was likely going to rip her. Of course, it was not  _ her  _ fault, that everyone was likely speculating their sexual lives, but it felt like they were so well in synch in the bedroom, that it might actually be borderline painful, if and likely  _ when  _ he would call the whatever it was that they shared quits.

 

“Of course not, as long as you make sure there’s some left for me, too.”

 

She received a small, dark chuckle as a reply. The sound went straight to her core, as it was wont to do, judging by the past few days. How come some men were blessed with a voice like that? That wretched man could probably make her come by simply reading  _ Hogwarts: A History  _ to her, or quite likely by simply discussing the weather, too. Good thing she had already established that she was, indeed, physically drawn to him. He didn’t sound like he was too pissed off, now that she thought of it, so maybe she might be able to lure him into her bed (or some other inappropriately appropriate horizontal surface -- or vertical, sure, if he had as much strength in his sinewy body as he seemed to have) before the day was over.

 

_ Stop it, Granger! You’re acting like a horny teenager! You should be acting like a randy grown woman. Wait, no. That’s not much better, is it? _

 

She felt more than heard his arrival at the door some minutes later. He stayed there for a while, apparently watching her soak in the tub. Not that there was much to look at, she mused. She had hastily gathered her hair up into a messy bun before having climbed in, the bubbles covered pretty much everything else, save for her head and the aforementioned messy bun. She could smell the coffee all the way from the kitchen.

 

“Your familiar is not exactly a fan of mine.”

 

She was not sure, what she had expected, but it most certainly was not small-talk about Crookshanks. She opened her eyes, which had closed on their own account at some point, and met the obsidian pair, which gave nothing away of his thoughts, as per usual.

 

“Crookshanks has heard so many stories about you, back in Hogwarts, I mean, that it might be difficult to win him over after all those feet of parchment you made us write. You do realise all that time was away from playing with him, don’t you?”

 

He nodded, his face solemn but a glint of amusement in his eye.

 

“I understand. However, I know you, Miss Granger, enjoyed those assignments immensely, always exceeding the ridiculously high expectations I had set.”

 

Was that… a compliment? 

 

“I will wait you in the kitchen, in case you wish to continue your attempt of dissolving into your bathwater. I have the coffee, and I cannot promise not to drink it all, should you keep me waiting very long.”

 

That got her attention, alright. Soon, they were sitting on the opposite sides of her small table, drinking the nectarine of gods. She couldn’t stop a small moan from escaping her lips, as she sipped the hot liquid. A flash of something, possibly amusement, maybe even arousal, could be seen in his eyes, before he cleared his throat, and told her he had tried to call her the previous night.

 

“Oh, I was at St. Mungo’s. The Potters had their baby. James Sirius, they called him. Not sure if it’s already in today’s Prophet.”

 

_ Nice job, Granger. So the cat is on the table -- the figurative one, since she had just unceremoniously dropped Crooks to the floor. _

 

“It was not,” he replied, sipping his coffee. “However, yesterday’s Prophet had an interesting little story about us.”

 

He raised his eyes to meet hers, and she couldn’t help but to try to lift her Occlumency shields, feeble as they may be. Those eyes were piercing enough to make her uncomfortable in more ways than one. He, on the other hand, was completely unreadable. It was unfair, really, how well he was able to hide his feelings and thoughts. Of course, she was a Gryffindor, and wore her emotions on her sleeve, as it was, but she knew it wasn’t simply a Slytherin trait, not when it was to this extent. As it was pointless to try to read his thoughts, or decipher his (nonexistent) body language, she had no choice but to answer.

 

“So I was told. Molly Weasley actually blushed when she told me about it.”

 

He chuckled at that again, surprising her. “I imagine the Weasleys might have some issues about it. For people with that many children, they truly are chaste. Did they give you hard time about it?”   
  
She shook her head. “No, not really. Ron asked me if it was true, though, that we are having… well, whatever it is that we are having, an affair, I guess.”   
  
That earned a reaction. Well, you’d have to use a special Snape scale for the slight hitch in his breathing to count as a proper reaction, but she was starting to get a hang of these small signals of his. Of course, his face showed no signs of his thoughts, but at least she had caught something. His monosyllabic answer was drawled in a way that gave it more meaning than most people had in their day’s utterances. “And?”

 

She shrugged, hoping to give an impression of nonchalance, despite feeling that it all came down to this, what she thought of their  _ thing  _ and how she had portrayed it to her friends. “I told him the truth. That we are having something going on with each other, at least I enjoy it utterly, and we haven’t really discussed anything beyond that. Then I told him I needed to go home and get some sleep, because you had kept me up.”

 

That earned her an actual snort! Smiles, chuckles, and now even snorts? She might have to take back what she had said about his unresponsiveness. Of course, she knew how to make him response in a more intimate setting, but somehow having coffee with him, and sort of discussing their  _ arrangement  _ at the same time, felt oddly more intimate than having sex with him did.

 

“He must have taken that well.”   
  
“I wouldn’t know, I Floo-ed back home before he managed to answer, and he hasn’t contacted me since.”

 

“He’s probably afraid of catching us on the sofa if he Floo-ed you, so I’d wait for an owl.”   
  


“What exactly do you imply he would catch us doing on the sofa, Master Snape?” she asked, feigning innocence. Yes, yes. They would have to discuss their relationship at some point if they were to continue it, but she was not quite ready to do it now. It was too soon after the news of Ron and Lavender’s engagement, and it was too soon after Snape had re-entered the wizarding world -- and hers along with it. It was too soon. Just too soon.

 

He must have known she was diverting him, deliberately trying to restore the status quo of their relationship from discussing sex to having sex. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was disappointed with her unwillingness to set the rules, to discuss it properly, but she was fairly certain he was not really in her kitchen because he wanted a relationship. Blowing off the steam was one thing, blowing off the steam with someone compatible was another thing in the same category, but an actual relationship, let alone with the snotty-nosed Gryffindor know-it-all?  _ Yeah, the phrase about Dementors, glitter, and rainbows applies here, as well. _

 

“I’ll show you in a minute. I just wanted to make sure you are not upset of what that Skeeter creature had written.”   
  
“She’s hated me since the Triwizard Tournament in my fourth year. I’ve grown quite used to her making me look bad. Worse. Whatever. I was worried that you might be upset, to be honest, that you might actually want to end this…  _ arrangement _ .”

 

“Oh, please. I’ve had my share of her ire, too. I have most definitely not had my share of you. Now that we have settled that, was there a show to be put up for your snooping ex?”

 

She shot him an eyebrow, an imitation of his ever-so-expressive ones, and opened the sash of her bathing robe, the only thing she had worn to the coffee, worrying he might actually drink it all, as he had threatened. “Quite right,” she managed to say, before he captured her lips with his own.

 

Later, they were laying on the sofa, with her on top of him. Ron had not Floo-ed them, but neither of them really minded that. She had cast a nonverbal Disillusionment Charm before things got too heated, but she was sort of hoping he had not noticed it. (He most likely had, being who he was, but never mentioned it.) 

 

“You, my dear Miss Granger, are going to be the death of me, you know that? I’m an old man, who normally does not engage in this kind of activities this much,” he murmured, still trying to catch his breath.

 

“Are you saying your intentions were fully honorable when you came here today? Don’t make me laugh, Snape! I wasn’t born yesterday.”   
  


“Thank Merlin for that!”

 

She tried very hard not to ask anything that would lead their light banter to more serious grounds, but it was not like Hermione Granger to leave questions unasked.

 

“May I ask where you went last night?”   
  


“Yes, you may,” he answered, and she could hear his smile laced in his words. His hand had found its way in her hair, stroking the curls absentmindedly.   
  


“Are you going to tell me?”

 

“No, I don’t think so.”

 

“You aren’t hiding a wife from me, are you?”

 

The thought had crossed her mind at some point of the week. Even though she doubted it, she couldn’t really trust her hunch. Well, not anymore, that is. Normally, Hermione trusted her instincts. However, Snape and everything about him seemed to make an exception to the rule. After all, it was not like she would have believed it if someone had told her a week ago that she would find herself lying on top of him after some mind blowing sex -- repeatedly. He had been gone for a long time, and no one really knew what he had been up to and with whom. She did not really wish to have a serious discussion any more than she had earlier, but she wanted to be sure. Just one bit of seriousness, that she could do.

 

She felt his eyes on the top of her head and could not help but wonder if he was offended by the question. His hand had never stopped its soft caresses, if that was anything to judge by. His heart was still beating a steady rhythm under her ear, so he must not have been very agitated, right? After an eternity he finally answered her question. 

 

“If it was a wife I went to, I assure you, it was not  _ my  _ wife.”

 

Of course, his answer only roused more questions. She bit her lip vigorously in order to keep herself from asking more questions.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s really none of my business.”   
  


“It’s quite alright. I do understand that, in a way, it is your business, or could be considered that. I am not exactly a Casanova, if that is what you are worried of. I thought you did not wish to have this conversation.”   
  


“I don’t. I’m just… well, you know how I am. Who I am.”

 

That earned her a soft laughter and a kiss on top of her head.

 

“Just give me a fair warning if you intend to have the Talk at some point, alright? They’re not really my expertise.”   
  


“Mine neither. Can we just agree not to discuss  _ this _ for the time being?”   
  


“Agreed, Miss Granger.”   
  


“Good.”

 

They stayed there, sharing another comfortable silence, for some time. They might have stayed there for even longer, had Crooks not decided to join them and start kneading her naked back, trying to make himself more comfortable. The couple disentangled themselves and soon enough, they were both dressed again. He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture she did not remember from her time in Hogwarts, but one she had grown quite familiar with, as well as fond of.

 

“I should leave. I was only going to visit you briefly to discuss the article in the Prophet. Am I right to presume that we are simply going to ignore its existence, then?”   
  


“I see no point in making a fuss about it.”   
  


“Very well. I will meet you in the office tomorrow morning, then.”   
  


He was already reaching for the Floo powder, when she made a tut-tutting kind of a noise to indicate that he had forgotten something. She quite enjoyed snogging with him, and there was no way in Hades she was going to let him just leave without a proper kiss goodbye. Or rather, an improper kiss of goodbye. 

 

He huffed half-heartedly, and she could see the way the corner of his mouth tugged upwards. With a murmured “Come here, witch.”, he pulled her closer by her waist and gave her a good, proper snog, just the way she had wanted him to. If he had been using Legilimency, she did not even care.

 

Soon enough, he had left for Diagon Alley, and she was left alone with Crookshanks, who was currently grooming himself on the armrest of the sofa. She wondered if she should do something that was considered useful, possibly call a friend or something, but ended up Accio-ing the book she had been reading before Wednesday had thrown her balance, and decided to spend the rest of the day in the corner of the couch with it.


	6. Manic Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James said nothing, as he not only a newborn but also fast asleep. I have the next chapter practically finished, and the last two chapters well underway.

Hermione had been worried about being able to finish her brewing with the tall, dark stranger looming in the periphery of her vision. Granted, she had grown quite familiar with him, physically, as he himself had pointed out a couple of days earlier. She did not feel like dropping the phrase quite yet, as there was no way of knowing him for real. Today had been a fine example of it.

He had been in a sour mood, when he entered the office, not bothering to hide it from her. He reminded her more of the git of a Potions Professor he had been all those years ago than he had ever since he had resurfaced in her life a few days earlier. The change to Sunday was so obvious, it made her wonder, if she had dreamt the whole encounter. She had wished him a good morning, he had done the same to her, and none of them had spoken ever since. He had sat down by his desk (and she had blushed slightly, remembering what had happened on the desk on Friday), and spent his morning scribbling furiously on the margins of a scroll that was already filled with his pointy writing, his lanky hair obscuring his face from her vision. She was fully well able to imagine his scowl even so.

However, him being so concentrated in whatever it was that he was doing, gave her the perfect opportunity to fully ignore his existence and immerse herself in brewing. The potion she had started on Friday was close to being finished, and she was fairly optimistic about its qualities. She scratched down some notes, as she brewed, and by the time she had bottled and capped the potion, it was nearly time for lunch. 

He had refused to join her for a lunch, which frankly surprised her. Quickly hiding the disappointment, she donned her outer robes, and walked to the door. He must have heard the fake cheerfulness in her voice, when she asked him if he wanted her to bring him anything, but his grunted negation made it very clear that he did not wish to carry on even this slightest of small talks. 

By the time she returned, he had left. Of course, he had not left a note of any kind. It was not her business, really, but it still stung a bit. It should not have surprised her, by any means. She knew him well enough to know better than to expect niceties, or so she had thought. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had accidentally struck a chord the previous day with something she had said. What was that answer he had given her when she had asked about his wife? That it was not his wife he went to? Whose wife would it be then?

The answer struck her like a bad allegory. 

Could it have been Narcissa Malfoy he had referred to -- or rather, not referred to? It was a common secret in the Ministry that Lucius Malfoy was suffering of some rather serious late after effects of prolonged exposure to Cruciatus curse. His memory was apparently deteriorating, his state similar to that the Muggles called dementia. There had been rumours about the Malfoys being a key factor in Snape surviving Nagini’s attack, so there might be a life debt involved. Of course, if she chose to not believe that the former double agent, her current shag, was acting out of the intention to save his buddy Lucius, she might actually go far enough to listen to the suspicious side of herself. What if there was something going on between Snape and Narcissa Malfoy? Then again, why would Snape have returned from his hiding, in order to participate in a project working for a cure for those suffering of spell-induced neurological injuries?

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear her mind. No. She would not speculate about his motives. She knew him and his past well enough to trust him. His relationship to the Malfoys, as well as what he did with his time outside the office (and her bed) were none of her business. She had decided not to discuss their thing, so she had no right to ask any questions of this nature.

The sound of the door closing brought her out of her reverie, and she met the gaze of the man in question. Severus Snape had apparently not rid himself of his foul mood, and he had an almost feverish glint in his eyes that were currently locked with her eyes. Belatedly, she brought up her Occlumency shields, wondering if she was being paranoid, and summoned a smile to her face, trying to hide whatever traces were left of her train of thought earlier. A sprinkle of small talk to further distract him might do it, or at least make him look away for a second.  
“Did you enjoy your lunch?”

“Do we have to do this, Granger?” he asked in a tired voice. His eyes never left hers. What on earth was this all about? “The small talk,” he further explained, with a sneer so Snape-like she felt like a schoolgirl again. Of course, a Snape-like sneer was something you should expect from Snape, she knew that, but it still caught her by surprise, it would seem.

“No, of course not. I was just trying to alleviate your bad mood, or understand the reason behind it.”

“Well, small talk is not going to take you to either of those destinations.”

He sat on top of his desk, his eyes still on her.

“Did you finish the potion?”

“Indeed I did. I’m going to take the vials to St. Mungo’s tonight to be tested.”

The potion would first be subjected to a multitude of spells, to see if it was safe to use. After that, it would be given to a small group of voluntary test subjects. A double blind study would be conducted, and given the qualities of the injuries, as well as those of the potion, the immediate results should be in within a few days, considering the nature of the potion. That is, of course, if the potion worked. If the potion was indeed another dud, they would know it by Monday. This particular brew was their fifth attempt. If -- and, unfortunately, very likely _when_ \-- the sixth attempt would take place, Snape would get involved with the research even more than he already was.

He simply nodded at that, finally looking away from her eyes. His eyes quickly darted at the her breasts, their shape visible through the blouse she had chosen to wear to work today, she noticed with poorly hidden smugness. She had chosen the shirt with him in her mind, and even left the top two buttons of it open after lunch, to ensure his attention. He might be a mystery, but he was still a man. 

“Are you prepared to get involved for real?” she asked him, before adding, “With the project, I mean. I know you’ve been there in the background the whole time, even before you showed up in my office, but if this doesn’t work, I could really use some hands-on help.”

“Is that not why I am here?” he deadpanned. “It’s not like I enjoy returning. Did we not agree to drop the unnecessary small talk, Hermione?”

The sound of her name falling from his lips seemed to surprise the both of them. He blinked, and opened his mouth, undoubtedly meaning to apologise, but she lifted her hand to stop him. 

“No, it’s quite alright, really. It is my name, after all. We are colleagues and… then some. You’re fully well allowed to use it. I don’t know if I am ever able to refer to you as Severus, however. I’m not even sure if you would like it.”

“I would.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I would like you to try, if you feel like it.”

She blinked slowly, their eyes locked with each other. She had not expected that. She did not even really know how their conversation had drifted to this point. After him being in such a sour mood the whole morning, she had hardly expected for anything warm coming from his direction. Well, except for a Fiendfyre or such, if she continued to bug him. He swore softly.

“Fuck. I mean, I don’t mean to push it or anything. Snape goes just fine, if it feels to awkward to use my first name, but we are, as you said, colleagues.”

“And then some.”

“And then some,” he agreed with a small smirk that seemed almost affectionate. Apparently, she had found the way to alleviate his crankiness. Yay!

After a few more silent but productive hours spent on the many bureaucratic aspects of finishing a new, experimental potion, they left the office together. They had not discussed it -- after all, they did not discuss most the things -- but both of them were aware of the significance of the simple gesture. There would be no foolish holding hands or any other sort of public displays of affection, oh no, these two had no need for such. Not a single word was uttered, not a single look was cast, and the only time either of them touched one another was, when Snape who was carrying the box filled with vials (the brew was delicate and neither wished to risk it with Apparition), softly elbowed her side in order to catch her attention. With a nod, he pointed the direction to one of the available Floos.

They felt the eyes on them, and the silence that preceded their way through the halls, as the Ministry workers took in the sight of them. Behind them, there were whispers, which both of them were able to hear. Not unfriendly, she noticed with some pleasure, but curious. Times had changed after Voldemort’s fall, and the Wizarding world with them. 

It would seem that sometimes things changed for the better.

They left the box in the hands of an elderly Healer who was responsible for the more practical parts of the experiment. Hermione discussed the properties of the new potion briefly with him, in order for him to determine the proper placebo potion for the other half of their quota. It was a fast visit. After all, this was the fifth time they went through the same things, more or less. The first two times they had been more hopeful, but by the fourth time, the curiosity and the optimism had faded somewhat, and now, at the fifth such occasion, it felt like a nuisance to her. She wished the potion would be it, the breakthrough, but she did not trust her new sources to be enough to make the difference. Her hunch was usually right about these things, unfortunately.

“I should probably visit the Potters while I’m here,” she thought out loud, as they were walking away from the research facilities. She half expected a sarcastic remark or straight refusal from him, but -- being the mystery man that he was -- he simply nodded at that.

“They haven’t been released yet?”

“No. Apparently James is a bit of a lazy eater, so they want to see he gets the grasp of that.”

“Not taking after his maternal family then, hmm.”

“Shush, you! Would you like to join me?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Harry would love it.”

“My point exactly.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, but could not help but to lean slightly into the kiss he pecked on her cheek, when he told her he’d visit an acquaintance of his, and wait for her by the Floos in the main hall. After all, he owed her a celebratory drink for the finished potion. She felt like telling him that it would be for naught, that the potion was not potent enough to be the breakthrough. She chose to nod instead. 

“I’ll see you in half an hour, then, Severus.”

It was the first time she had called him that. She noticed the brief softening of his features at the sound of his first name, but before either of them had too much time to ponder the significance of those three syllables, she started briskly walking towards the maternity ward.

To say that Hermione was surprised to find young James Potter in the arms of her former boyfriend, would have been a lie. After the insanity that had been the past few days, nothing really surprised her any longer. (That was, of course, a blatant lie. Nothing apart from Severus Snape really should have surprised her. That was closer to the truth.) She greeted the Potters each with a hug (except for James, who received a kiss on his forehead), and Ron with a smile.

“I finished brewing a potion earlier today, and thought I’d drop by while I was bringing it here. Sorry, I didn’t think of asking if you already had visitors.”

“No need to be sorry. There’s plenty of room in here, isn’t there?” Ginny answered with a tired smile, before patting the bed next to her. “Sit down for a while, won’t you? There’s something we need to talk about.”

She shot the younger woman a questioning eyebrow, but sat down as she was asked to. Would they ask about Snape -- _Severus, you ought to call him Severus_ \-- now? She had thought Ron would have told them the same things she already told him. She looked first at Ron, who was ignoring her gaze, and then at Harry, who was fidgeting with his wand. Fine, if they wanted to know, she would tell them. They might regret it afterwards, though.

“If this is about that article in the Prophet, you might have as well asked Ron about it. He already cornered me on Saturday, and I told him all about it.”

Ron looked up from his nephew and blinked owlishly. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, and Ginny’s voice had an amused lilt to it, as she continued.

“Well, as much as I want to hear all the dirty details about what you and Professor Snape have been doing, and how come I only learned about it on the Prophet, that will have to wait. At least for a bit, because I really, really want to know if he’s as good a shag as you’d imagine.”

“GINNY!” Ron shouted, seemingly shocked.

“James is listening!” Harry added to that.

James said nothing, as he not only a newborn but also fast asleep.

Hermione flashed a grateful grin to Ginny. They had never been the best of friends, but they did love one another and they had always got along just fine. Ginny Potter was, not that Hermione thought of it, the closest equivalent of a female friend Hermione had ever had.

“We were going to ask you to become James’s godmother,” Harry said after a few seconds of silence. “And I know it’s really none of my business or anything, but you’re a grown woman and you can… do whatever you want with whoever you want. However, if that whoever you want hurts you in any way, I’m going to hunt them down and…” 

He cast a worried look at his son. Ron took the hint and covered the baby’s ears with his hands. The women rolled their eyes in unison.

“And hang him by his sorry balls,” Harry finished his sentence with a grim determination.

Hermione stood up from Ginny’s bed and walked toward the young man, the closest thing she had ever had for a brother, and gave him another hug.

“Firstly, as you said, I’m a grown woman and perfectly capable of taking care of myself, even if it means hanging someone by their balls. I even know the spell for that, can you say the same? Secondly, and more importantly, yes, I would love to be James’s godmother.”

At that, Ron wordlessly handed her the baby who was beginning to stir. The baby opened his eyes slowly, accompanied with the biggest (and most toothless) yawn imaginable. The deep, dark blue met amber, and Hermione felt an odd tug at her heart. It might have been love, it might have been her biological clock ringing an alarm, but whatever it was, it was there. The moment was soon over, as the newborn settled back down and promptly fell asleep in the arms of his newly declared godmother. Hermione looked at Harry, feeling an uncharacteristic wetness in the corner of her eye. Harry simply nodded, and it was then she knew that he knew. Harry understood what it was like not to have a family of your own. This was his way of attempting to remedy it.

Some time later, she was sitting in the main hall by the Floos, eyeing the day’s Prophet. Snape was late, which seemed uncharacteristic, but she managed not to fidget and fret. It was almost a half an hour later when he finally arrived, his face unreadable but even paler than usual. Whoever he was coming from, it must have been a very unpleasant visit. She took his cool hand into her own, warmer one, and reached to touch his cheek with the other. The cold expression he wore softened slightly, and something warm flashed in his eyes, as he turned his face slightly to kiss her palm gently.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, quite sure that he would not, but feeling that she had to ask it in any case. He shook his head, and gave her a sad smile that shook her to her core. Had she ever seen him actually express this much emotion before?

“It’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” he told her before taking her arm in the crook of his. 

“They are going to be alright,” he added as if to himself, so quietly that she did not know if he had even really said it.

They entered the bar, the same one in which they had first met less than a week ago. It felt like a much longer time, she mused, as she sat by the counter. He sat down next to her, and laid his hand on top of hers that she had placed on the counter, giving her a small squeeze. Soon enough, Wee Albus, the same barkeep that had been there the previous time, was there, taking their joint order for champagne. His eyes twinkled even more than she remembered, which she pointed out to her -- yes, here she was again, her what? Her colleague? Her date? Her shag? Her Severus? He chuckled at that and said he might have to do some research on the matter.

There they sat, sipping their champagne, hand in hand. He had congratulated her and raised an impromptu toast for her. She had blushed prettily (or so she hoped) at his compliments on her brewing. 

Afterwards, he walked her home, the Muggle style, his hand on the small of her back, as she was leaning slightly against him. It was nice. He was warm and steady, and she felt safe, safer than she had since she didn’t even know when. They stopped in front of her front door, and he leaned down to kiss her gently, his hand never leaving her back. She asked him to come in, more than a bit breathless, when he was through with kissing her, but he declined, much to her surprise. 

She had known, of course, that whatever it was between them would not, could not go on forever. She had all but refused to discuss it with him, for Merlin’s sake, whenever he had tried to bring it up. It was quite alright, really, she understood it. The rejection stung, of course, but this had gone on longer than…

She felt his long fingers lifting her jaw. She had not even realised she had lowered her face. His eyes sought out hers, and she was truly confused when she saw warmth in those bottomless black orbs that he had for eyes.

“Little witch, you have had me under your spell for the whole weekend. I need to catch some rest. I told you I am an old man. If I came upstairs with you, we both know I wouldn’t be able to leave before sunrise.”

She blushed at that. 

“I am going to kiss you good-night, of course, and we’ll see tomorrow in the office. I promise to try to be in a better mood, and maybe I get to finally take you for a lunch, too, now that half the Ministry saw us leaving together today.”

She had asked him today, of course, but pointing that out would sort of ruin the moment. Instead, she flashed him her most dashing smile. Besides, he was soon kissing her again, and she quickly forgot all about whatever it was that she was about to say..

“Good night, Hermione.”

“Good night, Severus.”

And with that, he Apparated away with a soft crack, leaving her standing alone in the street, her lips still tingling from the long kiss. She would have to be careful, or she might truly fall for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm so late with this chapter. The real life got in between me and my laptop, I guess.


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